


Remains

by slacktension



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slacktension/pseuds/slacktension
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Team Avatar hides, the city is still being bombed by Amon, and one of them hits home for Bolin and Mako.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remains

They had taken refuge in the tunnels under the city.

Bolin didn’t mind it. He had grown up in the city viewing it as his home, his playground, and there were plenty of times when he and Mako would slip under a heavy manhole cover to hide from storms. There was never any fear of being underground; it was almost comforting to let his rough fingers drag along the stone walls as they walked. Mako walked up ahead with a flame in his hand like always, guiding the way and keeping out the fear of the dark unknown. It felt natural to be down there.

He could tell Asami didn’t like it. It probably reminded her too much of her father. She belonged to the better side of the city anyway, rich enough to purchase cars and ride the streets like she owned them.

They found an underground bunker that had been abandoned by the Equalists, just under the Dragon Flats burrow. Mako found a generator and managed to spark it to life, the bare bulbs that were strung up on the ceiling giving off a dull glow and hum. The place had been cleared of any possessions save for a few maps and ledgers written in code. Asami had taken it upon herself to try and decipher the code, which was really just an excuse to seat herself at the wooden table in the middle of the room, and ignore Mako.

Bolin sat at the table with her and Korra at the far end. Korra had her head and arms resting on the table in a bid to get some sleep, back rising and falling slowly. Bolin partially mimicked her pose with his chin propped on his arm as he strained to listen to the news that cackled out of their pilfered radio. Mako was in the back of the room working with the generator.

“ _…_ _And more bombs have been dropped in the Financial District…patterns suggest the Equalists are targeting places of bender important and rule…two hours ago what is believed to be an accidental bombing occurred at the Republic City Cemetery…_ ”

Bolin snapped his head up and roughly reached across Asami’s ledgers and maps to twist the volume louder.

“ _Bolin_ , what are you  _doing_?” Asami snapped.

He tensed and kept his fingers tightly twisted around the radio volume. It seemed adamant on issuing loud static rather than the news, and Bolin’s heart pounded in his ears as he waited for more news to become clear.

“Bo, turn the volume down, Korra’s trying to sleep,” Mako said as he walked over to the table.

“. _..The bombings at the cemetery were centralized in the new quarter…_ ”

Bolin lifted his eyes from the radio just in time to watch his older brother’s eyes widen, and reach out for the table as he slumped against it, his knees giving out as he stumbled forward.

“That’s where Mom and Dad are,” Bolin said.

Mako nodded.

Bolin had seen Mako at his worst many times before. The crowning moment was just after their parents had died, his older brother rushing to him with his eyes wide, amber irises small against a sea of white and flickering over everything in a daze. He tried to see everything, tried to grab all of their possessions and remember what was important, but it was clear that nothing sank in. He specifically remembered Mako scaling their kitchen counter to reach the cabinets, tossing them open and ripping through the top shelves to grapple at stale bread and dried meat. His shaking, white knuckle hands grabbed the bread too hard and made puncture marks where his fingers pierced it, crumbs falling to the floor.

This look was similar.

It was as if their parents had died again.

Just like before, everything was silent. The radio still cackled, but none of it reached Bolin’s ears, as he kept his eyes trained on his brother. He could tell Asami was frozen into place beside him and Korra’s head raised up out of the corner of his eye.

There wasn’t enough air in the room. Bolin couldn’t remember how to breath and he didn’t care to relearn.

Mako’s dead eyes suddenly met Bolin’s green. It was enough initiative for Bolin to stand, knocking his wooden chair against the ground and Mako jumped up as well, shoving the chair under his hand out of the way and tossing his scarf over his shoulder.

They both started for the exit.

“Where are you going?” Korra yelled, and soon, her footsteps and Asami’s were hurrying after the brothers down the tunnel.

“We need to find our parents,” Mako shouted back.

Bolin swallowed hard to push away any tears that might make an appearance. He would keep them away until they saw the damage. Not until the cheap graves Mako had spent their savings on were found among the rubble, cracked and beyond repair, unless he was capable of molding them back together. He didn’t know what they would do if the urns that contained their ashes had been hit, scattering them into the dirt and mixing them, taking away who they were and never being able to put them back together, whole and pure.

Korra and Asami kept shouting at their backs, wailing abuse.

Bolin glanced at his brother.

They had always had each other. What remained of their parents had been two cheap graves and a scarf. Now even that could be taken away

“We’ll come back,” Bolin promised to the two girls just before Mako broke into a run for the end of the tunnel.

For once, it was easy for Bolin to keep up. He knew exactly what dangers they were running into, going out in the open to crawl across the city to reach the cemetery. They would hop fences and cut through alleyways, scale fire escapes and brave the threatening airships over head, and it would be like they had never left the streets. The dark side of the city was ingrained in the palms of their hands and the scars in their skin, and they would fight it just like before. Because that was what they did for what remained of their family.


End file.
